But with his hands chained behind his back, there was no other alternative.
She swallowed back her apprehension and raised the cup to his lips, tilting it slightly. He drank, and in the shadowed light, she saw the rough stubble of facial hair. It was the same light blond colour as his hair, and when she lowered the cup, her eyes were drawn to his mouth. His lips were firm, a slash of a mouth that she doubted had ever smiled. In his dark eyes, she saw a worry that mirrored her own.
‘Where is she?’ he demanded in her language.
Caragh stepped back from him. ‘So you do know Irish.’ It meant he’d understood every word she’d spoken.
‘Where?’ he repeated. The ice in his voice held the promise of vengeance, and she retreated further. Though he could not harm her while he was in chains, she didn’t doubt that he’d kill anyone who threatened the woman called Elena.
Her face paled, but she repeated what she’d said before, ‘I told you already. I don’t know.’ She tried to calm the roiling fear in her stomach, admitting, ‘Brendan took her as a hostage and set sail.’
Frustration drew his face taut with silent rage. ‘I have to find her. Let me go.’ His command was spoken in a steel voice, one meant to be obeyed.
Though she understood his need, she couldn’t possibly free him from the chains. ‘I can’t release you,’ she protested. ‘You’ll kill me if I do.’ In her mind, she envisioned him taking his chains and wrapping them around her throat.
‘I don’t usually kill women. Even the ones who try to crack my skull.’ He tested the post, straining against his bonds.
‘I’m sorry for your wound, but I had to protect Brendan,’ she argued.
‘And I had to protect my wife.’ He half-snarled the word, his rage erupting. ‘She’s an innocent. She did nothing to you.’
‘The men were wrong to attack,’ she admitted, crossing her arms. ‘I tried to stop my brother, but he wouldn’t listen.’ Though it wouldn’t make any difference, she offered, ‘We were starving and needed supplies.’
‘And you thought you’d take them.’ Bitterness clung to his tone, and he let out a cynical breath of air. ‘We would have shared what we had, if you’d asked.’
‘Attacking you was never my idea,’ she insisted. It shamed her that this man thought of her as nothing but a thief, when she wasn’t.
‘Let me go, Caragh.’
‘Not yet, Lochlannach,’ she countered. Frowning, she added, ‘I don’t even know your name.’
‘I am Styr Hardrata. My wife is Elena.’
‘I saw her with the others. She’s beautiful.’ Caragh returned to the cold pot of soup and moved it closer to the hearth to warm. ‘Be assured, my brother doesn’t plan to hurt her. He’s only seventeen…and thoughtless, I’m afraid.’
‘He plans to ransom them or sell them as slaves, doesn’t he?’
She hadn’t thought of that, but it was doubtful. ‘I don’t know what he plans to do.’ Truthfully, she doubted if he’d considered any of his actions, it had all happened so fast. ‘All I know is that I can’t free you until my older brothers are here. Once they are, then you can go as it pleases you.’
‘And I’m supposed to stay here and ignore what’s happening to the rest of my family? You expect me to wait and do nothing?’
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. ‘I won’t let you hurt my brother.’
His dark eyes gleamed in the stillness. ‘If she’s harmed because of what he did, I’ll kill him. Be assured of it.’
She believed him. There was a darkness in this man, a soulless being who wouldn’t falter when it came to retribution. It didn’t matter that Brendan was young and foolish. In the Viking’s eyes, she saw the promise of vengeance.
Her hands were trembling as she ladled more soup into a bowl. ‘Do you want anything to eat?’
‘What I want is to be released.’ He glared at her, and she tightened the hold upon her fear.
Ignoring his demand, she said, ‘I have very little food. If you want to eat, I will share what there is. But if you’re going to push it away, tell me now, and I’ll keep it for myself.’
He said nothing for a time, staring towards the fire. ‘I suppose I’ll have to keep up my strength for the day when you set me free.’
‘I regret hurting you. But I had no choice.’ She picked up the bowl with both hands, steam rising from the soup. It felt as if she were nearing a dragon as she approached the warrior.
He waited, and when she stood before him, he said, ‘You look as if you haven’t eaten well in weeks.’
She hadn’t but didn’t say so. ‘There was a drought, and we lost a good deal of our harvest last summer. Many died during the winter, and it’s too early to harvest this year’s crops.’
Caragh raised the bowl to his lips, and this time, he drank. The soup wasn’t good, watery with only a bit of seaweed. But there was nothing else.
‘What of your animals?’ he asked. ‘Sheep or cattle?’
She shook her head. ‘They’re gone. My brothers went to trade for more food.’ To him, it might seem that they’d done little, but she knew the truth. They’d given up most of their possessions for food. ‘Believe me when I say there is nothing to eat,’ she continued. ‘I’ve looked everywhere.’
‘You live near the sea,’ he pointed out. ‘There’s no reason for you to starve.’
But it wasn’t that easy. ‘The fishermen left, months ago, and took their boats with them,’ she explained. ‘We can only get the smaller fish near the shore. It’s not enough.’ She didn’t mention her father’s boat, for they had not touched it in months. The others, too, had left it alone.
Styr’s hard gaze fastened upon her. ‘There is no reason to starve if you know the ways of the sea.’
When she took the bowl away, she noticed that the side of his face was swollen red and would likely be bruised black and blue by morning. Seeing his wound bothered her, for it was her fault he’d been hurt.
Caragh went to fetch a linen cloth, soaking it in more cool water. Without asking his leave, she went and touched the sore spot, bathing it to prevent the swelling from growing worse.
He stared at her in disbelief. ‘Do you always strike your enemy and then tend his wounds?’ His eyes held suspicion, as if he weren’t accustomed to anyone taking care of him. It made her feel foolish, and she pulled the cloth away.
‘I’ve never taken a man prisoner before.’ Her cheeks burned, and she retreated, wishing she’d never dared to touch him. Everything about this man threatened her, from his fiercely handsome face, to his raw strength. It was like chaining a predator, and she needed to remember that he was not to be trusted.
‘How long before your brothers return?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘They’ve been gone a fortnight. I have no way of knowing when they’ll be back.’
‘And if they don’t return?’
Caragh shook her head, not wanting to imagine it. Inwardly, she tightened the invisible bands around her fear and frustration. Ronan and Terence had sworn to return, and she believed they would.
But it was Brendan who gave her the greatest cause to fear. Her younger brother hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions, and he might pay the price with his life.
Returning to the far side of the hut, she washed out the bowl and set it to dry. Her voice was quiet, but she admitted, ‘If they don’t return, I’ll let you go. It would be more merciful for you to